


French Flower

by theweird1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mentions of Underage Sex, Mummy Holmes forgives, No actual sex, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock does actually feel, Talk of prositution, talk of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweird1/pseuds/theweird1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock thought that sleeping with his father's mistress would get back at the man, but it back fired when his mother caught him. It takes years for Mother and Son to forgive each other and themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	French Flower

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: There is no actual sex in this fic but I clicked the underage warning because their is implied sex between an older woman and a fourteen year old Sherlock. 
> 
> I wrote this in about an hour and fifteen minutes when I should have been writing this report for school but oh well. I like how it came out. As always unbated and I am History major and not an English major.

 

The air was thick with the smell of perfume and sex. Fourteen year old Sherlock was the only one home with his Father’s mistress came calling. The woman was beautiful, there was no denying that and Sherlock was angry at his father for cheating on his mother so he let the older woman seduce him. He wanted to get back at him but he didn't even calculate that his mother and older brother would come home before his father. He would never forget the look of pain on his mother’s face when Lady Meredith Fairchild, wife of Sir Arthur Fairchild, Hyacinth Holmes’ best friend walked out of her youngest son’s room with Sherlock just behind her buttoning his shirt. Lady Fairchild blushed slightly and left, discreetly. 

“Mother, I can ex…” He never got to finish as Hyacinth’s hand connected with Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock snapped back, looking at his mother in shock. Tears were running down her cheeks. Hyacinth Holmes never showed emotion, never. She had been brought up as the only child of Maurice Leon and his wife Alix. She had been treated with discontent because she was not the wanted male heir. Even when she moved from France to England to marry Sherringford Holmes, second son of the Baron of Branberry, Sherringford had may mistress over their twenty-two years of marriage. The only upside in her life was watching her two sons growing up.

“She may have taken my husband,” Hyacinth said in a small, choked voice. “But she can’t have my son.” Sherlock’s mother turned and walked down the hall to her room with more composure than a woman in her place would have, but the door did slam after her. Sherlock and Mycroft stood in the hallway looking after her.

“I never meant to hurt her.”

“Well you did, Sherlock.” Mycroft turned around and walked back down the hall. The relationship between Sherlock and his mother never went back to what it was before. 

Sherlock returned to school and refused to come back home unless it was summer break when he went to stay with his brother. He never wanted to see the look of shock, horror, and disappointment that was permanently plastered on his mother’s face. 

He soon became distant from all his family. He fought with both his brother and father even coming to blows with his father who disinherited him on the spot. He refused help from his brother and preferred to make his own way which went down the path of drugs and selling his body for money for the drugs. Had it not been for a murder of a fellow rent boy he might have slipped into unconsciousness in some back alley after too much heroin in his system. 

Now he has a flatmate and friend and a detective that was willing give him a chance to show his intelligence, but what he did not have was the forgiveness of his mother. He claimed to be above emotion but he knew, deep in his heart, that his mother’s forgiveness was what he needed more than anything else.

-=-=-=-=-=-  


The news of his father’s death didn’t come as much of a shock as Mycroft telling him that their mother wants both of them at the funeral. Sherlock could not face the woman, not after so many years apart. He refused to come, stating there is something else that he has too do. There is a look of disapproval on his bother’s face, but Sherlock is use to that. 

“Leave.” He told Mycroft and turns to his violin to start playing. His brother does leave and hours later his flatmate, now turned lover comes in.

“I talked to Mycroft and Greg.” Sherlock does not stop playing his violin and ignores the other in favor of losing himself in the sound that his instrument made, or he would if John had not come over and put a hand on his bow hand. “Sherlock he was your father.”

“And your stating of the obvious never fails to amaze me.” He said, dryly and shook the other’s hand off his, but John took the violin and sat it down on the table next to him. 

“You need to go.”

“No.” Sherlock refused to meet his lover’s eyes, but John leaned up and kisses him on his lips, softly. 

“I will be next to you when you come face to face with your mother.” Sherlock looked at him, apparently Mycroft has been talking about something that has nothing to do with him, as usual. 

“It is none of your business.”

“No, but it affects you. After Greg came back from meeting your parents he talked all about them. When he mentioned your mother you would act like you weren’t listening but I could tell. You miss her.”

“She will never forgive me.”

“I think she will.”

“You do not know my mother.”

“No but I know you.” John smiled up at him. “I know how hard you are to love, but I loved you none the less and I know you mother does. How could she not.” John pressed another kiss to his lips. It turned passionate and all the feeling that he felt for John and the worry over his mother’s disapproval come to the surface and he could not help back the sob that bubbled up from his throat. 

After twenty-two years he let the hurt and anger at himself and his mother come to head. He sobbed in John’s arms for the next hour straight until he felt numb of all emotions. John helped him to their bed and brought him a cool cloth to put over his hot face. He then slipped into the bed next to him and kissed his next.

“I will be their for you, love. Always.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

There were almost a hundred people at his father’s funeral. He could not find it in himself to feel sad that his father was dead. The man had been estranged from him since his late teens and he had not seen since their fight when he was twenty-one. Mycroft had a car come to bring them up. On one side was Mycroft and Greg, holding hands. Mycroft looked out the window the whole time and John and Greg chatted for a time. When the car stopped in front of his childhood home Sherlock could not find it in himself to get up off the seat. John helped his out. 

“I am here.” Sherlock nodded. The four of them entered the foyer. Sherlock and Mycroft’s older cousin Archibald, Baron of Branberry, and his wife were standing next to his mother. She had aged in the ten years since he had last seen her but she was still the stunning French beauty that he had heard his uncle talk about. Their eyes connected across the room. Sherlock waited to see that look of disappointment in her eyes. He squeezed John’s hand for support. Hyacinth looked between John and Sherlock. She eyes seemed to soften slightly. She left her spot at the other end of the room and walked over to her sons. 

“Mycroft, Gregory I glad you could come. I know Sherringford did not like you very much, but I know Mycroft needs you here.” Greg smiled at her. She turned to Sherlock, who straightened his back, but didn’t let go of John’s hand. “And you must be Dr. John Watson. Mycroft has told me much about you. I am glad Sherlock has found someone that can love him.”

“Mother.” The word came out weak and Sherlock felt like his knees were going to buckle. 

“Sherlock.” She embraced him. The Holmes brothers had gotten their height from their father who had been 6’2”, their mother was just over 5’5”, much shorter than them. “I was stupid for not forgiving you years ago.” Sherlock hug her back, finally letting go of John’s hand.

“I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” He said, tears prickling at the edge of his eyes. “I only wanted Father to suffer.” Hyacinth leaned back to look at her son in the eyes.

“I was angry at your father from the moment I married him to the moment he died, but I was only ever angry at you for a short time, but I could never say that I forgive you. I am sorry for that Sherlock, but I do hope you will visit more often now. I don‘t want the next time we meet to be at my funeral.” Sherlock shook his head. 

“No, Mother, it will not be the next time.” Sherlock promised. “Now I can formally introduce my friend and lover Dr. John Watson.” John smiled took Hyacinth’s hand and kissed it. 

“Pleasure to meet the mother of the Holmes’ brothers.” She smiled.

“They were the pleasure to raise.”


End file.
